


In Order to Graduate

by byconner



Series: Parapines [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, ParaNorman (2012)
Genre: College AU, M/M, Parapines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byconner/pseuds/byconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper has only one semester left before he graduates with a Bachelor's in the Science of Investigative Studies from Langford Bay University, in Wesmont, Delaware. His degree program requires that this be a semester long apprenticeship with a local police detective. While most students learn from investigators working in the nearby capital, Dover, Dipper is sent up fifteen minutes north to Winthrop, Delaware. Detective Dexter Lysander takes Dipper under his wing to show him the unusual, unbelievable, and supernatural. Luckily, he finds some help from a local tattoo artist when Dipper’s dream job proves to be a bit more difficult than previously imagined.</p><p>by-conner.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the setting descriptions. I jump around with the timeline, so be mindful of the times.  
> Also, this is a work in progress.

Introductions  
Norman Babcock/Dipper Pines (Parapines)  
College AU

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

[Criminology Advising Office, Townsend Hall, Langford Bay University, Wesmont, Delaware][12:30PM][Last May]

Townsend Hall was essentially just one long hallway with offices on both sides. In between doors sat wooden benches crafted from only the cheapest option of wood the University would purchase. Dipper had been parked on one for thirty minutes before he was even let into the advising office on the first floor. Inside the office he was told to wait a little longer before he could see his advisor. On the other side of her office door held his entire future: Where he would work, who he would work for, and what kind of work he would be doing. Dipper tapped his foot to let out some of his nervous energy. 

"Thank you, have a great day," Dipper heard another student say over their shoulder as they left the room. Finally, his appointment was next!

Combing his hair a bit with his fingers, Dipper leaned into the door, cautious not to barge in and annoy or frighten his advisor. He didn't want to make her mad. She waved him in and he took a seat in front of her desk.

"Dipper Pines, Dipper Pines" the woman repeated, searching for Dipper's name on the list in front of her. He patiently waited for her to find his name, though he wondered how hard it was to find a name on a list he presumed was alphabetical. But this was his chance to finally work out in the field and hone his skills as an expert investigator, and he wasn't going to mess it up by antagonizing the woman in front of him. So he kept his mouth shut. "Oh here you are," Dipper's advisor muttered, typing something into her computer from her list. The woman always reminded Dipper of a frog. She was wide and could stare at you for half an hour without once really looking at you. "Your mentor will be Detective Dexter Lysander," she croaked. "He works up in Winthrop. Do you know where that is? It's only fifteen minutes up Highway 1."

Winthrop? Dipper thought all the mentors worked in Dover, like in an actual city where police investigations occurred.

"You know you're the first one to be assigned up there. Guess they didn't have room for ya in Dover!" the advisor quipped, smiling at Dipper in a way that told him that she was done talking to him.

"Okay, thanks," Dipper muttered, standing up and walking out of the office. Before he was out of the building, he was looking up Detective Dexter Lysander on the internet on his phone.

\- - - -

[Winthrop Police Department Headquarters, Winthrop, Delaware][1:20PM]  
Lunch went by too quickly. Dipper was back in the office organizing some files when the detective entered. His mentor told him that he was allowed to finally tag along on a case. "Ghost stuff," Lysander said. Dipper beamed at the scruffy man with tired eyes, who took a sip of his coffee while flipping through the case file on his desk. It had been two weeks of mindless busy work around the police station for Dipper, copying papers, transporting reports from desk to desk, and retrieving coffee, while Lysander waited for the higher-ups to approve a case that he could bring his eager student along.

Dipper stepped over to the desk, leaning over to try to read the file from behind the detective's shoulder. "What kind of ghost stuff? Like an evil-spirit-haunting-a-house ghost or like needs-help-moving-on kind of ghost? How did it die? What are we going to do with it?" Dipper asked quickly, each question tripping over the other. He reached behind the desk to fetch his notebook from his backpack and titled an empty page as "Case #1" as he resumed peering at the casefile. He was beyond ready to start. The detective chuckled a bit at the barrage of questions, refreshed by the enthusiasm that became a bit too rare in the office for Lysander's liking.

Taking another sip from his mug, he searched the papers before him for the answers. "Let me start from the beginning, huh? There's this hotel, right? And one of the rooms has been supposedly haunted for years and years. By just one ghost." Lysander eyed Dipper's pen jotting notes almost as quickly as he spoke. "The old owners used it as a gimmick to help business. And I guess it's been working for a while."

"And people stayed there in a haunted room? Why?" Dipper interjected, the tip of his pen reaching up to the edge of his mouth, and his eyebrows furrowed.

"Wouldn't you stay there?" the detective countered. After a quick moment of contemplation, Dipper nodded silently. "People did it for the thrill. For the story. It was a harmless ghost anyway; the worst it did was move your suitcase or flip the lights on and off. Anyway, the gimmick wore off. People stopped coming and the old folks sold the place."

"And the new owners don't like the ghost?"

"Nah, they're a little more trepidatious. So they called the police, and they passed the buck to us." Lysander reached for his mug, closing the case file, and waited for Dipper's note taking to finish. This was probably a good time to get creamer.

\- - - -

[W 300 Block, Ash Street][5:05PM]  
Dipper stepped out of the white sedan, careful not to slam the door too hard; he didn't want Detective Lysander to snap at him. Slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes, he noticed the pale colors from the setting sun painting the sky into a brilliant fire. A gust of wind sneaked under Dipper's jacket, reminding him that the fire in the sky did nothing to warm the freezing January evening, and that maybe two coats were better than one.

"You ever been here?" Lysander asked Dipper, rubbing his whiskered chin and squinting over the remaining sunlight at the storefronts ahead of them. Dipper didn't venture downtown many times, mainly because he never had a reason. Everything he needed was primarily on campus. Mabel used to try to drag him downtown when they were freshmen. And she often took him up to Wilmington whenever she got a chance.

Then they grew up. They got caught up beginning their lives and finishing school. Mabel had her life and Dipper had his. They ate together and resided together in the same apartment, they shared the electric bill and responsibility of cleaning up after a party with friends. But they didn't live together. Not like when they were kids.

"Not over here particularly," Dipper said, eying the unfamiliar street name on the sign, then the stores in front of him. A regional bank occupied one corner spot, next to a coffee shop, a tattoo parlor, a small barbeque shack, then a print studio and a floral gallery at the opposite corner. Some customers exited the coffee shop, only to be traded for a couple of underclassmen looking for a place to study. A family passed Dipper and Lysander as they walked down the street toward the bank end. The young son still had barbeque sauce on his cheek.

"Really? I took you for a let's-check-out-the-new-magnolia-exhibit-at-the-gallery kind of guy," the detective grinned, a cloud of breath escaping from the sides of his mouth. Dipper shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head at the joke.

"I prefer examining the tattoo art," Dipper teased back.

\- - - -

[Gold Treasure Tattoos, 330 W Ash Street, Wesmont, Delaware][5:00PM]  
Norman worked too much to be called lazy, but was too lazy to convince them that he was in fact lazy. He took Tambry's closing shift for the umpteenth time, partly to put more dollars on his paycheck, but mostly to avoid going back home. Home was where he had homework and bills and dirty dishes. The tattoo parlor was his little sanctuary, where he practiced his ink and stood around on his phone. And got paid to do it.

"Norman, niño, go home. The sun has set and you've been here all day," a 30-something Dominican woman drifted into the front from her office in the back. Genevalisse Salvatierra owned the tattoo shop, called Gold Treasure Tattoo (an attempt to appeal to the students of Langford Bay University, who were the Pirates). Norman turned to see Genie, as she was called, who was looking warmly at the college senior, one hand on her hip.

"I took Tambry's shift tonight," Norman explained, returning to his design notebooks to add a couple more strokes to his sketch.

"Estás aquí demasiado," Genie sighed, knowing she couldn't force him to leave even if she dragged him by his tall black hair.

"'I'm here'... what's 'demasiado' mean again?" Norman wondered aloud, looking at his boss.

"It means 'too much'!" Genie exclaimed, to which Norman nodded. "Hace dos años que trabajas para mí and your Spanish has not gotten any better."

"Sorry, jefa. But to be fair, I have learned how to swear," the young man pointed out, smiling up at her. She let out a little smirk and patted him on the shoulder, nodding in agreement. She remembered one afternoon when Norman was practicing on fake skin and realized, only when he was about to finish, that the zombie face he was drawing was completely asymmetrical. He swore out loud in Spanish in frustration, catching only Genie's attention, who snickered at his outburst.

"¿Qué dibujas?" Genie asked, looking over Norman's shoulder at his sketchbook. A rough drawing of a ghost floating out of a fresh grave filled half of the page. The other half were just different attempts of the ghost. Norman moved the notebook to give his boss a better view.

Behind them the front door opened, causing a bell to clamor. Norman and Genie turned to greet the new customers, but skipped the usual welcoming when they saw who it was. It had been a few months, but Norman recognized the detective, who upon landing his gaze on Genie, approached the front counter. He never received a tattoo, Norman noticed; hell, the man probably didn't have any to begin with. He only ever spoke with his boss in fake small talk, then she'd invite him to the back room and tell Norman to watch the store while she was busy.

At first he thought they had sex, but they always left looking disgruntled and on edge. Whenever he sneaked to the back and leaned his ear to the door, all he heard was muffled chatter. Definitely not the sounds of making love.

"Bonsoir, belle," Detective Lysander approached Genevalisse, who grinned at him.

"Leave the French at the door, Dexter. You know the rules: English or Spanish only. Preferably español." Genie replied, beckoning the older man over to her with her finger.

"Haré qué tú quieres que hago, amiga," The detective returned, walking up to the woman.

"¿Quién es el niño?" Genie asked, motioning to Dipper, who stood a couple feet from the two. Dipper scowled at the 'niño', knowing that the woman thought he couldn't understand her. But he knew, and he hated being called a kid.

"Ayudo Señor Lysander con sus investigaciones, ...vieja." Dipper replied before Lysander could, smiling. Genie's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I'm mentoring him this semester," Lysander added.

"He's quick," Genie said, then turned back to Dipper. "Where you from? Arizona? California?"

"California," Dipper replied, impressed she guessed so accurately.

"I can tell you had un profesor mexicano from your accent. Keep up the studying, and I might look past your 'vieja' comment," she teased.

\- - - -

[Gold Treasure Tattoos][5:20PM]  
Nothing. Norman has added nothing to his sketch in the last fifteen minutes. He told himself that he'd finish the ghost before he left for the night. He had a whole portfolio to complete if he wanted to even have a chance of opening his own parlor one day.

The detective said the guy's name was Dipper, Norman remembered, looking up at the guy sitting in the front of the store. Norman wondered if Dipper's hair would be taller than his own if the other boy had made an attempt of grooming it. It wouldn't fit under his beanie, though, if it stood straight up. And he looked kinda cute in his beanie.

Did this ghost wear beanies before he died? Norman pondered, returning his gaze to his sketchbook. Well, it'd be a person who wore beanies, who then died and became a ghost. Why didn't he move beyond, though? Did he have unfinished beanie business?

Dipper was reading from a notebook, probably doing his homework or something. Norman wondered if Dipper was a freshman or sophomore, since he looked kinda young.

This ghost was young when he died. He never got to finish college. That was his unfinished business.

Did Dipper go to Langford Bay like Norman? He hasn't seen the other boy around the campus, as far as he could remember. Is he just in town with the detective? He could go to some school in Dover. Or he said he was from California. Maybe he studies there and is just in town for a little bit.

The tombstone is pretty small. This ghost's family would have paid for a bigger headstone.

If Dipper was only in town for a little bit, Norman would never have to worry about an awkward encounter later if he hooked up with the boy in the beanie.

\- - - -

[Gold Treasure Tattoos][5:30PM]  
"Hey. Dipper, right?" The tattoo artist asked, as he walked up to the front counter at the opposite corner of the waiting area from Dipper. Dipper looked up from his phone, interrupted from his research about the ghost in the hotel.

"Yeah."

"How come you didn't go with the detective? To the back." Norman pointed behind him with his thumb, towards the back room where Genie and the detective were meeting.

"He told me to just wait here," Dipper shrugged.

"Oh. He said he was mentoring you?"

"Yeah. I'm studying to be an investigator."

"At Langford Bay?"

"Yeah."

"Oh cool, I go there too. I'm about to graduate in Business Administration." Norman hoped Dipper would be impressed.

"I'm graduating, too, but with Investigative Studies." Oh, Dipper is Norman's age.

"Cool."

"Yeah."

"Is it fun? Running around and chasing ghosts and stuff?"

"Who told you about ghosts?"

"I know about the detective, and if he's the one teaching you anything, it has to be about the supernatural."

"Well, yeah, I think it's pretty fun."

"You do anything else for fun?"

"Not really, actually," Dipper chuckled in embarrassment.

"Oh. Well, maybe, I don't know, we can grab a drink or something. That can be fun, you know." Norman looked down as he spoke, only landing his gaze on Dipper when he finished.

"Like you and me at a bar?" Dipper's face became a little flush. He wasn't asked by many people to go out and drink. Or do anything, really.

"Well I'm not talking about drinking milk with grandma and grandpa back there. Come on, you got do something besides work. It'll consume you. I'd know," Norman smirked, recalling every time Genie reminded him how many hours he worked each week, with what seemed like pity in her voice. Pity in a teasing way, of course. Probably.

"I don't know, I don't even know who you are." Unable to keep looking at Norman's piercing blue eyes, Dipper eyed the phone in his hand for a moment. But he looked up again as Norman responded. Dipper kinda liked the other guy's eyes.

"I'm Norman. I'm a tattoo artist here at Gold Treasure Tattoos. I've been attending Langford Bay University for the last four years. Born and raised in Massachusetts then moved here for college." He spoke as if he were in an interview. "Now you know who I am, what about you?"

The edge of Dipper's lips curled up, just a little. "I'm Dipper Pines. I already told you everything about me: I go to school to be an investigator and I work with Detective Lysander."

"That's it?"

"I'm from California, but I guess I already said that, too," he added, shrugging.

"How about this, you think about yourself for a while, come up with some really interesting stuff, and after you get off work," Norman looked down and scribbled a note on a small piece of paper, "shoot me a text, and we'll meet at Monte Cristo so you can tell me all about it." Norman walked over and handed the paper to Dipper.

Dipper grabbed the scrap of paper, thinking hard about what was happening. It had been a while since Dipper had been to a bar, especially in order to meet someone for drinks. Actually, Mabel had been insisting that he get out and do something other than work. Maybe this would get her off his back.

"Sure thing," Dipper replied, earning a big grin from Norman the tattoo artist. An awkward silence set in, as Dipper did not know how to continue the conversation, though, he didn't really want it to end. Norman had some... charm to him. Even if he had too much hair gel on his head.

"Ever think of getting a tat?" Norman asked, sitting down next to Dipper.

"Never!" Dipper exclaimed.

\- - - -

[Gold Treasure Tattoos][6:10PM]  
The two boys heard the backroom door squeak as it opened. They raised their heads and waited for their elders to appear in their vision. Lysander's face was hard to decipher, which only meant he was thinking too hard. Which meant this case might not be as open-and-shut as Dipper had wished. Genie walked up to the front counter, leaned onto it, and looked outside at the street, illuminated by the artificial light of the street lamps. Then she peered over at Norman and Dipper sitting in the chairs reserved for waiting customers.

"Comfortable?" the detective asked Norman as he approached. Suddenly Dipper was aware of Norman's one hand on his shoulder and other resting neatly in the crook of Dipper's elbow, his head up to look at Lysander, but only moments ago lying on his hand on Dipper's shoulder. Norman just wanted a better view of Dipper's phone as he played funny ghost videos.

His heart racing and face red, Dipper stood up, shaking off his new friend. "Ready to go?" he asked, hoping the moment of awkwardness could be rushed over.

"Yeah sure. Let's go," Lysander nodded. He thanked Genie, said goodbye to Norman, and led Dipper out of the store. He would tease Dipper later, maybe tomorrow. At the moment, he had some news to share.

Meanwhile, Genie gave Norman a certain face, but said nothing. Norman looked around defensively. "What? He's cute!" The Dominican woman just rolled her eyes and shook her head, but let Norman see her grin as she turned around to resume her work.

\- - - -

[Monte Cristo Tavern, 715 S 8th Street, Wesmont, Delaware][10:15PM]  
Friday night brought out the crowd, filling most of the seats at the tables, making some people opt for the patio. There was some attempt by the management to heat it, at least. Norman was one of few who remained at the bar after receiving their drinks, the rest happily grabbed their glasses and retreated to their group of friends, celebrating another end of another week.

Peering over at the door every few moments, Norman found himself wishing just a little extra hard that this one show up. He remembered the last guy he met at a bar. He was tall and tan and a pre-med student. But unfortunately, he was a, well, a pre-med student. He and Norman found themselves having little in common. They resorted to talking about the only thing they had in common: previous hook-ups on campus. In comparison to the stories the guy shared, their sex that night was lackluster.

Norman's phone vibrated on the bartop, which he quickly grabbed. He got a text from an unknown number, but he knew it was Dipper.

"Sorry, can't make it tonight. I got too much work stuff." Norman felt his heart sink into his stomach. He glanced at the time, and predicted he'd be in bed before midnight. So much for that condom he tucked away in his wallet. He tapped the reply button next to Dipper's message.

Then his phone alerted him of new text. "Maybe tomorrow?" it read. Norman's lips curled up, feeling the disappointment evaporate from his body. At least Dipper actually wanted to hang out. That was something.

"Sure, sounds good," Norman replied. He sent the message and paid the bartender for his single beer.

"Text me tomorrow and we'll think of something," Dipper wrote back. Sitting down into the driver's seat of his car, Norman sent a quick "ok", then turned the key in the ignition and drove back home. He had dirty dishes to do, anyway.


	2. First Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper learns more about his first case. And he decides to spend his Saturday with Detective Lysander when he learns that the detective is making a trip back to Gold Treasures Tattoos, and has it on good information that Norman will be working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look for the homage to user adimlytwistingplanet (bodymodau.tumblr.com)
> 
> Visit my blog at by-conner.tumblr.com

First Case  
Norman Babcock/Dipper Pines (Parapines)  
College AU

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

[Winthrop Police Headquarters][7:45PM]  
The detective's shoes were neatly placed at the edge of the big oak desk in his office. Dipper accidentally kicked them a couple times as he paced around the room, retrieving files, old books, and coffee for his mentor. Lysander told him not to worry about scoffing them, since they were old and it wasn't like he was too fond of them, anyway. Lysander had a habit to removing his black leather loafers when he knew he wasn't going to leave for a while. Even Dipper would slip out of his sneakers sometimes, agreeing that the carpet Lysander had chosen for the office was quite soft under his toes.

At the moment, Dipper was typing away on his laptop on the floor, sitting cross-legged and leaning against the wall near the door. The chairs were too rigid for his liking. They weren't conducive for proper intellectual contemplation. For that, Dipper needed all his focus in his head, and any distraction from his body, like a stiff back or an aching butt, would simply not do.

"Here's my notes from Genie." Lysander tossed a pad of yellow legal paper from his desk to the ground next to Dipper, interrupting his research on ghost behavior. Lysander had not told his student much more about the case, yet insisted that he stay and do more research on his own. Dipper wasn't sure there was much more he could know. Glancing over the legal pad, he could hardly make out the handwriting on it. Opening his mouth to ask where his notes in the Latin alphabet were, Dipper saw the detective leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head and his eyes closed, so he decided not to bother him.

Having deciphered the lettering, Dipper began reading the notes quickly, only to be left more confused by the new information. His eyebrows furrowed as he reread the notes, trying to find what he must have missed which was important to understanding the words.

"Having some trouble reading my chicken scratch?" Lysander chuckled. Dipper looked up from the notes to see the detective watching the expression on his student's face.

"Nah, I got that," Dipper replied, "but only barely." Lysander let out another small chuckle, then sat back up in his chair, turning to face Dipper. "But I don't really get what I'm reading here. Who's the Ronnie guy Genie kept talking about? And who's Arthur?"

The detective pondered Dipper's questions for a moment, deciding if he wanted to answer them. "You find out more about the hotel room and its ghost?" Lysander asked in response, apparently choosing to not answer Dipper's question quite yet. Dipper nodded at his mentor and pulled up his own notes on his laptop, which he had transcribed from his notebook earlier.

"Yeah. The legend is some crazy woman and her son checked into that room, back in the 50s. They went up, but never left the room. When the owners tried to make her leave, since her reservation had expired, they entered the room to find the boy's dead body, mutilated on the bed, which candles and demonic markings on the walls and stuff. The mom was gone and was never found." Dipper paraphrased his notes, noticing Lysander nod occasionally. "The ghost is that kid."

"That's the legend," the detective agreed. He turned back to his desk, flipped through some documents, and then pulled one out of a pile and handed it to Dipper. "This is a news article about the murder, published a couple days after it took place."

Dipper examined the photocopy of the old news clipping. It was published in May, 1958. 'Boy Killed in Hotel, Mom Disappeared' was written at the top, and below it was a picture of a young black boy and his parents, accompanied with a short article about what the police found in the hotel room.

"That's Ronnie with his mom and dad," Lysander said of the photograph.

"That's Ronnie?" Dipper repeated, confused. "Then how did he talk to this Arthur guy a couple weeks ago? Genie said they talked. Is Arthur a ghost, too? Do ghosts talk? How did Genie know they talked? Did she talk to Ronnie?"

"Firstly, Arthur is not a ghost, he is very much alive. He's a medium, which means he speaks to the dead. And Genie, well, she is just very observant," Lysander grinned a little bit. "She knows which conservations to overhear and which doors to press a cup onto."

"Right." Dipper nodded, making sense of what was on the legal pad of Lysander's notes from Genie. He grabbed it to look at it again. "So the new owners of the hotel hired Arthur to talk to the ghost, but things got a bit out of hand. This Arthur guy got some weird burn on his hand and Ronnie is starting to make more noise."

"Arthur wasn't just trying to talk to the ghost, he was trying to get rid of it."

"And that made Ronnie mad?"

"Probably just scared, he was only fourteen when he died. Now he's lashing out."

"I thought the hotel owners were leaving this to you to solve. Why'd they get Arthur?" Dipper asked, wishing Lysander would just tell him everything like a professor giving a lecture. Lectures were easy. Having to connect all these dots were hard.

"Arthur offered a better deal. Why wait for the cops down in Winthrop when you could get a medium who lived closer to come down and do it quicker? Plus no annoying paperwork, and I'm sure he made the price worth their while."

"So are we still working on this case?"

"Yeah. I expect Arthur to be calling me sometime soon to ask for my help."

"He's going to call you?"

"Yeah. He always calls me when he's in over his head. Just keep researching Ronnie and the hotel."

\- - - -

[Winthrop Police Headquarters][10:15PM]  
Dexter Lysander was a man who did his research. He was a man who was well prepared for each case. But that didn't mean he liked it. And he really didn't like the early days of a case, where all he did was gather information, take notes, and interview people. He liked talking to ghosts and hunting supernatural creatures. He was good at it. But he knew if he wanted to solve his cases, he had to know what he was up against. And unfortunately, things that shouldn't exist don't have rap sheets in the police database.

He looked over at Dipper. Dipper was eager to jump into action, too. Probably because all he's gotten to do so far was clerical tasks, and that was not helping him fulfill his requirements to graduate. He noticed Dipper texting on his phone, which probably wasn't helping him either.

But he was relieved that he wasn't the only one bored of work.

"Who are you texting?" Lysander asked, breaking an almost hour long silence in the office. It took a moment for Dipper to acknowledge the statement, but when he looked up at the detective, his face became hot and red because he knew Lysander knew it was Norman.

"I was just-... I forgot to text... Just a friend. I'm just talking to a friend," Dipper muttered, forgetting how to speak, let alone lie in order to save him from embarrassment. Again. It was bad enough Lysander and Genie caught Norman leaning on Dipper's shoulder after they left Genie's office, but now Lysander caught Dipper texting the boy from the tattoo parlor.

"Is it your new friend Norman from the tattoo parlor?" Lysander smirked, knowing from Dipper's flush face he guessed exactly what his student was doing. Dipper took a moment to think about how to answer, but Lysander didn't give him a chance. "He's a charming kid. Genie likes him. And apparently not half bad at tattoos." Dipper nodded, trying not to seem too overly interested in Norman.

"You have any tattoos?" Dipper asked, trying to change the subject away from Norman. Lysander laughed, thinking about his tattoo.

"None for you to see, Dipper," he said. Dipper's phone buzzed as he received a text message from Norman. He quickly opened it, smiled, and typed a response. "I'm going back to Gold Treasure tomorrow," Lysander mentioned, returning to the files on his desk. Dipper looked up at him. "I have to go talk to Genie again. And I'm sure Norman will be there."

\- - - -

[Gold Treasure Tattoos][11:45PM][Saturday]  
The parlor was busier than Dipper would have thought. Which only meant that there was at least one person getting a tattoo done. Reclaiming his previous seat in the front of the store, Dipper did his best to inconspicuously watch Norman work. He had never seen someone actually get a tattoo before, but imagined it hurt. The girl Norman was working on didn't seem to mind much what was happening as the ghost-clad artist hunched over her leg. She just flipped through a magazine, only occasionally wincing or peering down to check on the progress. Dipper wondered for a moment if Norman's hair ever unintentionally hit a customer. It probably did.

Accidentally meeting the girl's gaze, Dipper quickly looked down at the books on a nearby table. They were full of designs and examples of work done at the shop. Some resembled the images on the wall. One in particular grabbed Dipper's attention, since it was opened to a sketch of ghost peering over tombstone. He couldn't tell if the ghost looked more shocked or distraught. Maybe a little of both. The art looked a lot like the kind Dipper saw on Norman's arm the other day. It was definitely the same ghastly green color as Norman's ghost tattoos.

"Robert?" Asked aloud another tattoo artist from the front counter, sliding latex gloves off his hands. Dipper raised his gaze from the book, distracted. A man who looked to be in his forties (with an impressive beard) nodded at the artist and walked over to him. "Just a touch-up, huh?" said the artist, repeating what he had undoubtedly read from an appointment list.

"Yes, sir," the customer said, lifting his T-shirt sleeve to reveal a big shield shape filled in with the Italian flag. The artist glanced at it for a moment, then proceeded to lead the customer to the back, sat him in a big chair, and started to wash his hands. Dipper returned his attention to the book of designs in his hands. Flipping through the pages, he had to stop at a few and stare in awe at the intricacy of the art, and wondered how long it took to put that on somebody's body permanently. And how many times they had to return to the shop to have it touched up.

Dipper examined the book for a while, thinking about the ghostly theme of all the images. Had Norman made these? Or did someone else, and Norman had merely liked some so much he tattooed them on his body? Did Genie make them? She seemed pretty contacted in the world of hunting for the supernatural. Detective Lysander used her as a contact. He must have trusted her a lot.

Lysander and Genie had been talking for half an hour, Dipper realized after checking his phone.

"-wrapped up for 24 hours, then the usual lotions and processes that you did for the last two," Norman was saying to his customer, who hobbled next to him to the front counter, careful not to put too much pressure on her leg wrapped in gauze. Dipper watched as she paid for her ink and arranged a touch-up appointment in a couple months. Norman flashed her a dazzling smile as he wished her a good day.

Then he noticed Dipper, and grinned even bigger. "Hey Mr. Detective-in-training," Norman said, walking up and taking the same seat as yesterday next to him.

"Hey," Dipper replied, getting a good look of Norman's face in the sunlight that cast through the windows. He had incredible blue eyes and a patch of facial hair along his chin, which was trimmed nicely. His hair stuck straight up into the air, which kinda looked like a frightened cat in an old cartoon. Norman made it look good, though. Norman looked good.

Dipper had messy hair which he hid under his beanie. He never quite knew what to do with his mophead, but he didn't want to cut it. Usually he just threw on a hat and called it a day.

"So you ARE thinking about getting a tat?" Norman joked, hinting at the book of designs in Dipper's hands. Dipper's immediate reflex was to forcefully deny that assertion, since, after all, Dipper was not in fact thinking about it.

"You think I'd look good with a tattoo?" Dipper asked instead, trying his best to flirt. He remembered when Mabel tried to teach him back in high school. If there was anyone who could woo boys, it was Mabel, and Dipper had hoped the skill was in those genes they shared.

"I think you'd really strike fear in the hearts of all those creatures you catch if you had some badass ink," he replied, laughing. Dipper chuckled with him, imagining the look on Mabel's face if he came back with a tattoo. Well, her first face of surprise. She'd probably fall in love with it after the initial shock. He looked at Norman's arms, thinking they could strike fear in something. Dipper certainly wouldn't mess with a guy with sleeve tattoos. Well, he might mess with Norman, since it seemed Norman knew how to joke around. Maybe he should have gone to the bar with him the night before.

"Sorry I couldn't make it last night," Dipper mentioned after a moment's silence. He scratched the back of his head, ashamed he stood up the boy sitting next to him for a tiring night of staring at his computer screen on the floor of Lysander's office.

"Don't sweat it," Norman waved off the apology. "But remember that you promised to hang out tonight. I don't give third chances, you know."

"I'll keep that in mind," Dipper said. "But you know, I didn't actually promise anything."

"You trying to ditch me again?" Norman teased, grabbing the book of art from Dipper's lap and taking a quick moment to look at the images on the open page.

"Nah. I need to get away from thinking about ghosts anyway."

Norman pointed to a design in the book, "Wanna talk about ghosts, then?" Dipper laughed, and let out a fake sigh.

"You really know how to pique a guy's interest, huh?"

"Do I pique your interest, Dipper?" Norman raised his eyebrow and smirked a little. Dipper blushed a tiny bit, and he looked down to avoid Norman's blue eyes.

"That art, uh, does. Pique my interest, that is. Who drew it?" Dipper recovered, gesturing to the book.

"I did," Norman responded, pleased with Dipper's impressed face. "You like it?"

"Yeah, it's good. You're a good artist."

"Well you've only seen the stuff in this book. But I've been working on it. Hope to have my own place like this one day," Norman stated, looking around Gold Treasures. "That's where my business degree will come in handy," he quipped, turning back to Dipper.

"Right," is all Dipper could think to say, letting the silence sink in again. He enjoyed talking to Norman, the flirtatious tattoo artist he'd only known for a couple days.

"So how come you're working on a Saturday?" Norman asked. Dipper didn't want to say it was because he knew the detective was stopping by and Lysander had mentioned that Norman would be there, even if that was his real excuse.

Dipper shrugged, feigning ignorance of his reasons. "It's my first case, and I want to solve it."

"This is your first case? What's it about?" Norman turned his body to face the guy sitting next to him. Dipper smiled to himself.

"Ghosts," he answered, knowing that had piqued Norman's interest.

\- - - -

[US Route 13, Wesmont, Delaware][12:30PM]  
"What did you and Genie talk about?" Dipper asked Lysander as they drove back to the office in Winthrop.

"Eh, don't worry about it yet, Dipper. I'm not. It's Saturday and I need a break this weekend," the detective replied, not taking his eyes off the road. "And you need one too. Go out and enjoy the weekend like college kids do," he joked.

"Whatever you say, boss," Dipper grinned.

\- - - -

[Cafe Orleans, 233 S 3rd Street, Wesmont, Delaware][11:00PM]  
Dipper vetoed Norman's suggestion of meeting at the Monte Cristo again. He didn't like the idea of going to a bar full of drunk guys cheering on the hockey game as if the Washington Capitals drew their energy for the game from a bar a couple states over. Cafe Orleans was more a-live-band-and-weird-imported-beer kind of bar. Dipper liked it better.

"What would you name it? Your tattoo shop?" Dipper asked, halfway through his second Jack and Coke.

"I'm thinking 'Marking the Covenant'," he said swiping his hands in front of him, as if revealing the name in the air in front of him.

"I like it, I like it," Dipper nodded, having no idea what it meant.

"What about you? What are you going to do in the future?" Norman wondered, sipping his beer. Dipper scratched his head, laughing awkwardly.

"I'm going to solve mysteries, I guess," he shrugged.

"You joining Scooby Doo and the gang?" Dipper playfully shoved Norman for his joke.

"I wish. Then I'd get to ride around in a really groovy van. Instead I get to ride shotgun in Lysander's police-issued Impala."

Norman laughed at the 'groovy', but returned to the subject. "Come on, what's Dipper's plan for life? I told you mine."

"I'm going to solve supernatural mysteries."

"That's it? No captain of the police department? No private supernatural investigation company? No saving the world from the evil poltergeists from hell?" Norman teased, making his new friend chuckle and shake his head.

"I don't know, man. I'm just trying to graduate and find a job that pays something decent."

"You're boring." Norman and Dipper laughed.

"You don't know boring. I was looking up the Ronnie ghost story on my computer for hours and hours yesterday. THAT was boring," Dipper rolled his eyes at his memories of research the previous day. He shuddered at the thought that he'd be doing it again come Monday.

"Well you know, I can help you with your investigation, if you want," Norman grinned.

"If YOU want," Dipper countered, knowing Norman didn't have to help if he didn't want to. And Dipper was pretty sure no one wanted to. "It's not as incredibly interesting at tattooing someone's ankle."

"I think I can help you," Norman winked.

"Then sure. I'm sure you know plenty about ghosts. You've got 'em all over your body." Dipper reached out to touch the ink on Norman's arm.

"Wanna come back to my place, then? To talk about ghosts and stuff?" Norman asked, leaning over to rub his shoulder against Dipper.

Dipper took a sip of his drink, inspecting the other boy's smirk and glint in his eyes. He flashed his own smile at Norman. "And stuff," he laughed, standing up from his stool and placing some money from his wallet on the bartop. Norman did the same, wrapped his arm around Dipper's shoulders, and led the way to a taxi outside. Dipper pretended not to see the condom peek out from Norman's pocket as he pulled out his wallet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this whole detective job has its perks.  
> \- - - -  
> What happened to Ronnie? Or his mom?  
> And who's that Arthur guy?


	3. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Norman and Dipper's meeting at the bar, Norman does what he usually does on a Sunday: drink coffee, sketch ghosts, and drink more coffee (but with friends this time!). When the weekend ends, however, so does "usual".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep track of the setting markers!

Bruises  
Norman Babcock/Dipper Pines (Parapines)  
College AU

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

[Norman's Apartment, 4103 Shady Tree Ln, Wesmont, Delaware][12:05AM][Sunday]  
It had been quite a while since Dipper laid his head on another guy's chest. And since then he had forgotten how easily skin stuck to other skin. His body was lying against Norman in the big comfy bed which took up most of the space in Norman's bedroom. Dipper closed his eyes, letting the alcohol and dopamine flow through his bloodstream in silence, save the sounds of the two's heavy breathing. Norman fingers landed gently on Dipper's back, their skin only barely in contact, tracing his spine with his fingertips down to the tailbone. Dipper shivered at the touch.

"You like that?" Norman grinned, pleased he could make Dipper quiver at command.

"Yeah," Dipper whispered without opening his eyes, hearing Norman's heartbeat quicken as the guy above him smiled. Norman's fingers glided back across Dipper's spine, causing him to tremble again. This time Dipper lifted himself from Norman's chest to shake off the goosebumps he felt all over. He looked over at boy lying in front of him, and upon seeing Norman's face under his (now slightly disheveled) scaredy-cat hair in the low light that peeked into the room from the world outside, Dipper couldn't help himself but lean over and touch his lips to Norman's once more. Obliging happily, Norman ran his hand through the other boy's messy hair. He wondered which was softer: Dipper's locks or his lips.

\- - - -

[Norman's Apartment][9:30AM]  
"Brunch!" shouted Dipper, rising suddenly from the bed. Before even rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he untangled his legs from Norman's and swung them from under the covers to the edge of the mattress. He took a moment to register where he was, but he was reminded instantly when Norman sat up, bewildered and still half-asleep, and asked Dipper to repeat himself.

"Brunch. My sister makes me go out and eat with her every Sunday. It starts in, like, half an hour and I gotta be there," Dipper explained as he picked his clothes up from the floor and hastily put them back on. Norman watched him from the bed, though he was squinting hard when Dipper flipped on the lights. "I gotta go, sorry," Dipper said, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning down to tie his shoes.

"No worries," Norman replied, his voice still a little gruff from sleep. Dipper slipped his beanie back on to cover his uncombed (or rather, untamed) hair. He calculated in his head how much time he'd need to get ready to meet Mabel by 10. His shower would have to be quick. Lightning quick. And he could save three minutes by brushing his teeth in the car. If he could think of a way to do that without getting toothpaste all over the dashboard. Maybe do something else in the car to save time?

"Text me later," Dipper heard behind him, just as Norman's hands wrapped themselves around Dipper's stomach, and Norman's mouth landed on the other's neck. Dipper's face promptly grew bright red, but he let the kissing and little bites continue. They felt good.

"I- I will. Yeah," Dipper muttered, after which he was released from Norman's grip. He stood up, took one last look at Norman's brilliant blue eyes, smiled, and rushed out the door to meet his sister for brunch. "Bye!" he shouted on his way out.

\- - - -

[The Coffee Zone, 210 Haven Blvd, Wesmont, Delaware][11:40AM]  
When Norman had first been to The Coffee Zone, he had met with a student who ran a blog about undergraduates at Langford Bay University. Her collection was supposed to expose and present the diversity of personalities on campus. It was a mild interest for many, but an intense passion for Coraline Jones. She intended on revealing the hidden depth of all those around her. Norman, though only causally aware of the blog, was quite flattered by Coraline's request to be interviewed for it. He'd met with her about halfway through his Sophomore year.

That was also the first time Norman actually finished a cup of coffee without any cream or sugar. He'd stuck to a dark roast, black, ever since.

Sipping his mug, Norman peered out of the front windows to the streets of Wesmont outside. When the weather was warmer he would sit outside, but for now the January cold kept him indoors. Though, it was only a giant window and ten feet that separated him from his usual seat outside.

Downtown was a busy place, especially on a Sunday near noon. Norman loved the hubbub of crowd traffic on the sidewalks. And occasionally, between the college students in hoodies and the mothers pulling forward their children in bulky coats, a hazy green figure would drift silently by, unhindered, if not altogether uninterested, by the living humans they passed through. There were definitely fewer ghosts in Wesmont than Blithe Hollow, Norman's hometown in Massachusetts, but the ones present still kept Norman busy.

He took another sip of his coffee, letting his eyesight fall to the notebook on the table in front of him. A sketch of a young woman in a bonnet was beginning to form on the page. She had amazingly smooth-looking skin, covered partially by her straight hair which was cut precisely at chin level, but overshadowed only by the faintest of smiles she wore. Norman often wondered how old she was.

He wanted to ask, but she never answered his questions. That's not to say she couldn't understand him; she obeyed his directions to shift in her seat or turn her head, but she never spoke.

Norman looked up from his sketch to see the ghostly maiden drift right over the barista and land in the seat across from Norman. She smiled at him, fixing her hair with one hand while the other dutifully stayed put in her lap. Norman set down his mug and grabbed his pencil. She was right on time, as always.

"Ready, madam?" Norman posited, as he always did before beginning to draw. Her only response was to resume the same pose, with eerie precision, as she had the last Sunday they met. He smiled, acknowledging her answer, and continued to sketch her. He always began with her eyes, because although her body remained frozen in the seat, her eyes always changed throughout the session. First they shone with excitement, as they did when Norman greeted her. Then worry seeped in, slowly dulling the shine, until they were dark with not just apprehension, but fear. And like a hourglass which ran out of sand, as soon as bright excitement was drained from her eyes, Norman knew his time was up. She would disappear suddenly, and stay hidden until the next Sunday, when the process repeated. Norman could never get her to reveal her name, let alone what had frightened her so much.

Normally ghosts were so eager to talk with Norman, who was usually the first person in a long while who could hear them. But the madam intrigued Norman because she didn't want to chat. She just wanted to be drawn.

\- - - -

[The Coffee Zone][12:15PM]  
"She say anything?" Coraline asked as always, sitting down across the table from Norman, where the madam disappeared only fifteen minutes prior.

"Nope, just posed. Like always," Norman responded, having gulped down the rest of his coffee before it cooled down too much. Nothing worse than a cold mug of coffee.

Coraline picked up the sketchbook from in front of Norman and examined it closely, inspecting the additions. "You figure out who she is yet?"

"No, but I think I figured out when she lived," Norman said, lifting an eyebrow as if begging Coraline to put on an impressed look on her face. She showed moderate curiosity.

"When was that?"

"Well I looked up the time period that women wore the kind of clothes she was wearing, and I got the late seventeenth century." Coraline nodded at the discovery, studying the clothes sketched on the notebook, thinking that the time was probably accurate.

"You decide what you're going to do when you're done drawing her?" Coraline wondered, handing the notebook back to Norman.

He shrugged. "I'm going to show it to her. If that's all she wants, then maybe seeing it completed will help her move on," he said, though still not assured of his plan. He couldn't exactly predict her reaction to the drawing, since he hardly knew her. But he couldn't think of anything else to do when he finished.

"That'd be number 20, wouldn't it?" The girl with blue hair noted, remembering that Norman once told her he had helped a total of nineteen ghosts in Delaware since moving to the state four years ago for his freshman year at Langford Bay.

"Yep," he replied, popping the 'p', and leaning back in his chair to bask for a moment in his success.

"You think you'll ever make it to a hundred?"

"Like a hundred total, or a hundred here?"

"Either, I guess."

"Yeah, probably," Norman shrugged again. "I like doing it. Helping ghosts find peace, that is. It's... I don't know, not many people can even see them, let alone help them."

"Might as well make the most of it," Coraline smiled, repeating what Norman often told her about his feelings of his gift to see what most don't even know exist. Norman just returned Coraline's smile, remembering being struck by it, the first time he met with her and she laughed at one of his lame jokes. "You said the same thing when I interviewed you for my blog. Do you ever think of something new to say?"

"I guess when you're surrounded by dead things all the time, the line between new and old, ...here and gone, real and unreal begins to blur."

Coraline grinned, fishing a little notebook out and writing furiously on it. "Damn it Norman, just when I think you're starting to get boring, you say something interesting." Norman blushed a little bit. He hadn't just thought of that on the spot. It was something he lived every day.

Norman stood up and went to refill his coffee while Coraline wrote in her little book. When he sat down again, she was looking out at the streets through the windows. The sun was shining brightly; no clouds were present to obstruct the sunlight. It would be hard for Norman to sit in his room later to start his homework without the urge to just get up and go walk around outside for a while. Well, all he had to do was read, which he figured he could do outside.

"You do anything this weekend?" Coraline turned to look at Norman. He couldn't resist an urge to smile just a little bit at the his memories of him and Dipper last night. "Oh, that's a new type of little grin there," Coraline teased.

"Shut up. I met up with a guy at the bar last night," Norman proudly reported, knowing he was getting some flak from his friends about how few times he had been finding time to do something fun. And it was true. Norman had been mostly just working and doing school stuff for a while.

"A guy this time? That's probably for the best" Coraline poked fun, making a reference to when Norman picked up a girl at Monte Cristo several months ago. She turned out to have a couple kinks which Norman did not share. "What's his name?"

"Dipper."

"Dipper?"

"Like the Big Dipper, the stars in the sky. He was a birthmark on his forehead that looks like the Big Dipper. He was really embarrassed of it," Norman laughed, remembering that he had to coax Dipper to take his beanie off his head, which let his hair move around and expose the mark.

"That sounds downright peculiar."

"I thought it was neat."

"Was it just a one time thing, your night with Dipper?"

"Dunno. I was thinking about texting him. I told him to text me when he left this morning."

"Well you know the rule: I get a meeting before the third date," Coraline held out her pointer finger at Norman.

"Not everybody I hang out with needs to go up on your blog, you know."

"Let me be the judge of that."

\- - - -

[Dipper's Apartment, 1439 Brooksdale Ct, Wesmont, Delaware][10:05AM]  
Mabel had been banging on Dipper's bedroom door for almost twenty minutes, refusing to suppress her almost childish need to know who gave her brother the hickey on his neck. He hadn't even realized he had it until he walked into the apartment, about to apologize to his sister for being late to their Sunday brunch. She hadn't let him get one word in before she began asking him about it.

"Dipper, come on! You don't have to hide it from me! I'm your sister, dammit!" she pounded on the door a couple more times. Dipper was examining himself in his bathroom mirror, doing his best to ignore her. Norman must have given him the bruise the previous night. Or right before he left. How long did it take for a hickey to become visible?

More importantly, how was he going to keep it from being visible until it disappears?

"What's his name, Dipper?" Mabel shouted through the door. "Is it Bruce? Or Tim?" Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his sister crawl under his skin. He knew that she knew that he would eventually give in and let her into his room. "Ricardo? Or Ernest? Please don't let him be named Ernest, Dipper. You can do better than Ernest." He figured he should just let it happen and get it over with.

He walked back to his door and unlocked it from the knob. Hearing the lock click, Mabel tried for the handle and rushed into the room. "Lemme see, Dipshit," she ordered, guiding him to the bed where they sat down under the light overhead. "Jeez, I haven't seen you with a hickey since high school," she looked up at Dipper. "When Corey What's-His-Face gave you one at the New Year's Party," a big smile grew on her face as she remembered the story. "but you didn't know it was from kissing and you thought you bumped your neck into the-" Dipper put his hand over his sister's mouth, giving her a stern look.

"Yeah I don't need to be reminded of that," Dipper said, moving his hand over to his neck, hoping it would just dissolve under his skin.

"Well, you're going to tell me all about this whole thing while we eat," Mabel stated, standing up and pulling her brother up with her. "Come on, Sunday brunch is getting cold!"

\- - - -

[Gold Treasure Tattoos][5:55PM][Monday]  
The pencil's graphite usually covered Norman's hand while he sketched, which meant all of his notebook's pages were coated in smudges. Flipping through the pages of his sketchbook, he could judge how long he spent working on a drawing by how dark the bottom right corner of the page was. That was where he rested his hand, so that was where most of the smudges accumulated.

"Norman!" he heard Genie hollar from the back of the store. "Ven a mi lado!" Norman closed his notebook, glancing at Nate who was scrolling through his phone. He looked back at Norman, shrugging his shoulders to show he didn't know what Genie wanted, then returned to the phone in his hand.

"What's up, jefa?" Norman asked, entering Genie's office in the back. It was a small room, fitting only her desk and some filing cabinets in the corner. A couple folding chairs sat facing the desk, which she only got out when she was expecting company. Norman took a seat in one of them.

"Your favorite ghost hunter is coming to visit us this evening," the Dominican woman reported, trying to keep a smile on her face.

Norman sighed loudly, leaning back in his chair. "Dammit" is all he muttered, knowing from past experience that he couldn't wiggle his way out of the meeting. Genie would find a way to keep him there; sometimes it took threats to fire him. He often asked why he had to sit through their meetings, but Genie only ever said that she just wanted someone else to be there with them, that at least Norman understood what they were talking about when they talked about the supernatural.

"Here he is," Genie stated, just as someone knocked on the open door to the office. Nate stood there, pointing his thumb behind him at a tall clean shaven man in a suit.

"Arthur's here," Nate said quietly, then turned around and returned to the front of the store. The middle-aged man nodded his head in greeting to Genie and Norman, and took the other folding chair next to Norman.

"Buenas tardes, Genevalisse," Arthur smiled. He turned to the boy next to him, "Norman, I'm glad you could make it." Norman shot him a look that assured the new guest that Norman was only here because he had to be. "Genie," Arthur turned back to the woman on the other side of the desk. "I was just in town and thought I'd surprise you, but I guess you already knew I was coming, didn't ya?" He motioned to Norman sitting next to him, referencing every other time they met when Norman was there with them.

"I already know a lot of things, Arthur," Genie replied.

"Right. Well, let me cut to the chase. I've been hired by a Mr. Yeasley, the new owner of the Tulipke Hotel, to exorcise a ghost. It seems it be pretty harmless, despite being the product of a rather gruesome death." Norman looked at the man in the suit curiously. He remembered Dipper telling him about that exact ghost. It was his first case. Was he working with Arthur? "And I was just wondering if you have seen anything recently that might help me along."

"Why do you need a psychic's help? Something not seem right?"

Arthur's expression didn't flinch at the questions. In fact, it was almost as if he had been expecting them. "Just want to make sure I'm prepared, is all." Norman hated the way he smirked.

Genie looked at the man, thinking hard about whether to tell him something or not, disguising her contemplation, however, by pretending to be trying to remember if she had a vision of the future about it. "Oh yes, I remember seeing you in that hotel."

"Talking to the ghost?"

"Mr. Yeasley may be pale, but he's no ghost," Genie joked, making Norman grin.

"Cut the shit, Genie," Arthur said, sighing. "There's a ghost of a dead kid who needs help moving on, and I'm trying to do just that."

"You're trying to turn a profit."

"Not all of us can draw on people for a living."

Genie ignored his last comment, though Norman shot him an angry look. Arthur didn't notice, however. "Why did you really come all the way down here?" Genie asked.

"You tell me. I'm sure you've already envisioned this whole conversation a week ago!"

Genie thought for a second. "You're right, the mother is important."

"Why did she disappear? Where did she go?"

"I don't know everything about everything, Arthur."

"I'm trying to help this kid find peace, and maybe knowing what happened to his mom will help."

"Eso no ayudara."

"I don't speak Spanish."

"She said that won't help," Norman stated. Arthur glanced at the young man, but quickly returned to face Genie.

"Why the fuck not?"

"I know for a fact you were taught better than to swear at a lady, Arthur," somebody familiar-sounding said in the doorway of the office. All three turned to look at Detective Lysander leaning against the threshold. He stared hard at Arthur.

"Dex, I didn't expect to see you here," Arthur responded.

"This is my case, Artie. What are you doing here?" Dexter stepped into the room.

"My job, actually. I've been hired to do what the police-" Arthur pointed to the badge on Lysander's waist. "haven't done yet."

"We're still working on it."

"You're taking your sweet time, huh?"

"I can't just do whatever I want when I want, you know. I have rules to follow. We all do."

"I'm not a detective anymore, Dex. I make my own rules." Arthur turned away from Lysander back to Genie, standing up from his chair. "Calling my brother, Genie? Unnecessary." he said blatantly, before walking abruptly out of the room in a huff. Lysander watched him leave without saying anything more.

"Me da ansiedad, esto en todo," Genie sighed. "Something bad is going to happen. I just can't tell what, yet."

Lysander turned back to face Genie, but caught sight of Norman sitting silently in the corner. "Norman, go make sure my brother didn't break anything on the way out, eh?" he pointed his head toward the door. Norman nodded, standing up from his chair. Genie reached out to grab his arm, getting his attention.

"Have you noticed anything strange lately? With the ghosts?" she asked.

"Not really," Norman shook his head, wondering what constituted strange for ghosts. They were all strange. They were dead people floating around completely invisible to almost everybody.

"Okay," she replied, as if she didn't believe him. "But if you notice anything, please tell me. Bueno?"

"Yeah, of course," he told his boss, taking his leave from the room. He had never realized that Arthur and the detective were brothers. It was weird how different they were. That whole conversation was weird. When he thought about it, Norman never left Genie's office feeling normal. She had a way of bringing out all his abnormalities and showing them back to him.

Norman had been able to see ghosts all his life, and has even helped some move beyond, but only in Genie's office did he feel odd about it.

"Norman," Nate said as he walked back to the front of the store.

"What's up?"

"You have a hickey on your neck." Norman's face flushed red and he raced over to a mirror on the wall, examining his neck. Dammit, how'd he not notice that before?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick review:  
> Genie is a psychic who (obviously) sees the future. So remember those notes Lysander gave Dipper about Arthur talking to Ronnie the ghost? That conversation hadn't actually happened yet. That was what Genie told Lysander what would happen.
> 
> Arthur and Dexter are brothers! Arthur Lysander used to be a police detective. But he felt like his abilities as a medium (like Norman) weren't appreciated as much as he would have liked. So he quit.
> 
> Dipper and Norman are biters.


	4. Late Nights

[Dipper's Apartment][1:20PM][Sunday]  
A thousand different scenarios were playing in Dipper's head, each one getting a little more frightening than the other. Fiddling with his phone, Dipper frowned at his overactive imagination. Did Norman really mean it when he told Dipper to text him? Was he just being polite? Is there some expected discourse in the morning-after interaction of which Dipper was unaware?

Dipper enjoyed his night with Norman. Really enjoyed it. It had been a while since he slept with someone and he was beginning to remember why he was so persistent in his search for sex during his first couple years at Langford Bay. The night he lost his virginity, he became hooked.

Unfortunately, he was part of a rather unsaturated market. He was lucky to get laid once every few months or so.

And he never knew what to say or do the next morning. Hell, he only barely ever made it past the sex. Should he leave or stay? Was he welcome to stay? Did he talk or just sleep? Was he the big spoon or little spoon?

With Norman, he just shut his mouth (they had talked so much before heading back to Norman's place), let the spiky-haired boy scoot up and spoon him, and fell asleep. And being late for Mabel's brunch had saved him the awkward morning conversations more than once.

"Thinking about your ghost hunt, Dippy?" Mabel inquired sitting down at the table next to her brother, noting the webpage about Ronnie's ghost on Dipper's laptop nearby. He placed his phone down on the table in the living room, where Mabel just joined him, and returned his focus to his laptop. In all honesty, Dipper turned on his computer but became immediately distracted thinking about his next move concerning Norman. The webpage was just there from the last time he used the internet.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. I am," Dipper nodded, trying to sound convincing. His twin just looked at him; she knew when he was lying.

"It's still the weekend, you shouldn't be working," Mabel humored him, reaching over and closing the laptop.

"Hey! I have to solve this case and probably a lot more so I can graduate. So, uh, the quicker the better, you know," he responded, reopening the computer.

"Okay, whatever you say, Mr. Busy Detective Guy," Mabel stood up and walked over to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee leftover from their shared meal earlier. There was silence while she walked, since Dipper tried to focus on the online article in front of him. He could hear the coffee pour into his sister's mug. Mabel turned back to face her brother. "I'm going to the Art Museum downtown today with Jacoby," she said to Dipper. "You wanna come?"

"No, I don't really want to tag along on your date with your boyfriend."

"You don't have to third wheel; we could make it a double date. Maybe invite Norman along?" she posited, strolling back into the living room to rejoin her twin. He gave her a disapproving look.

"We aren't exactly on that double date to the museum kind of level."

"One night of ravenous fucking isn't good enough these days?" Mabel joked.

"It was not raveno-! I don't-!" Dipper became flustered and red-faced. "No, I don't want to invite him. I don't want to go."

"You're no fun at all!"

"Sorry," Dipper muttered, trying to concentrate on the news article about Ronnie the ghost on his computer.

"Well, I'm not coming back here afterwards, so you'll have the place to yourself."

"Okay."

"To do whatever you want."

"Mabel, I'm not inviting Norman over. I think it was just a one time thing anyway, and I don't think you should keep bringing it up like we're suddenly dating or something. It was just sex," Dipper's voice was a tad louder than he expected. "You and Jacoby have it. Mom and dad had it. I'm sure there are people right now having it on campus. I have it too, sometimes. But it's just that, nothing more," he snapped. Mael looked away from her brother, letting his words sink in. She had always teased him about his dates, and she knew it annoyed him (that was, after all, part of the teasing), but she didn't realize how angry he got from it.

"Sorry, Dippy. You are allowed to go out once and a while and let out some steam, no strings attached. I get it." Mabel sipped from her cup.

"It's alright." Dipper didn't like yelling at his sister, but she was known to pester and annoy him until he couldn't take it anymore and just let out his anger in yells and screams.

Mabel's sounded dinged at her, alerting her of a text message. "Jacoby's coming over soon. Can you help me clean up the kitchen a little?"

Sighing, Dipper closed his laptop and stood up with his sister. "Yeah."

\- - - -

[Hotel Tulipke, 1130 Roselyn Blvd, Dover, Delaware][3:33AM][Sunday, 25 May 1958]

Ronnie pushed himself as hard as he could against the headboard of the hotel bed. Candles flickered in the corners of the room, illuminating the horrific scene playing in front of the young boy's eyes. His mother, or at least her body, stood in the middle of a noxious green haze, which seemed to swirl around her. Tears streamed down Ronnie's face, but he didn't dare make any noise. He was too afraid his mother would remember he was there, too.

The air was hot but chilled him to the bone. The oxygen clouded around his face, but refused to enter his lungs. The light was dim in the room, but Ronnie stared intensely at beings appearing in front of his mother. Slowly, three women appeared out of the mist, their bodies materializing from the smoke in front of Ronnie's utterly still mother. The ghostly woman in the middle looked the oldest of the three. She looked incredibly old. Almost dead. Probably dead, actually.

The woman on the right of the group reached out to Ronnie's mother, touching her on her shoulder. Suddenly, the candles' flames danced wildly in the room, momentarily blinding Ronnie in the dark. He closed his eyes, becoming hyper-aware of the space around him. He didn't know what he would do if he felt anything.

The door to the room abruptly heaved, indicating someone trying to push it open. Although he couldn't see anything, Ronnie felt the attention of the women in the room turn to the door, which was too close to the bed for his liking.

"Lila! Ronnie! Open the door!" a deep voice resonated in the room. Ronnie's beating heart almost leapt out of his chest at the sound of his father. But he didn't know if he should move to open the door. Or if he even could. His mother had used two locks to seal the door shut, and Ronnie wasn't sure if he could open both without catching the attention of the apparitions. His father banged on the door loudly.

Just as he was about to jump to the door, the steel head of an ax burst through it. Disturbed by the interruption, the ghostly women shrieked loudly. The hot air swam around Ronnie's sweaty face as the haze in front of him began to move again. The women turned away from Ronnie's mother and towards the door, which the ax burst through again. The screams of the ghosts shook the whole room and drew all color away from Ronnie's face. The candles in the room relit by themselves and the wicks burned larger than they had before.

The ax punched a hole in the door larger enough for Ronnie's father to sneak his arm through. The green haze became a thick cloud, but Ronnie had no problem seeing four figures looking straight at him.

His mother, the one who had asked him to help her paint the pentagram on the floor, the one who turned off the lights and lit the candles in the room, the one who told the frightened boy that everything would soon be okay, was staring at her son with lifeless black eyes. The expressions on the women's faces were all the same, but their faces varied greatly by age. Ronnie's mother was not even the youngest one present.

Ronnie's father desperately felt around for the locks with his hands, trying to unlock them. His mother stepped forward from the emerald fog towards her son, who cowered away from her. Reaching the foot of the queen bed, she extended her arm towards Ronnie. Paralyzed in fear, he watched her pale hand inch closer and closer to his body.

One of the locks clicked at the door.

"Come here, pumpkin," his mother whispered, barely opening her mouth. Ronnie felt the tears surge from his eyes, desperate to have his mother shake off the cloud from around her body, cast away the ghosts behind her, hold him again and reassure him that everything would indeed by okay.

He just shook his head.

"It's alright, baby-" she muttered, interrupted by the click of the second lock and whirl of air winding through the air caused by the hotel room door swinging open. Ronnie's father rushed in, dropping the ax at his feet and clasping a wooden cross and bible in his large hands.

The ghosts flinched at the sight of the cross. Ronnie's mother reached out and grabbed Ronnie's leg. The teenager, distracted by his father entrance, screamed out in fright, kicking wildly to tear his mother's grip away.

"By the power of Christ, release my son!" Ronnie's father boomed, as he stepped closer, holding the cross out in front of him. The ghastly cloud swelled around the three women in the pentagram in the floor, filling the whole room with the terrible gas that tasted like blood and burned like fire. Ronnie's mother began to pull her child closer to her with brute strength she didn't possess earlier.

"Lila! Let go of him!" Ronnie's father bounded at his wife. As soon as his hand touched her arm, she unleashed a sinister screech which cut through the air like Ronnie's father's ax through the door. The three ghostly women levitated into the air, and began to fly rapidly about, creating a great chaos in the room.

Ronnie's body suddenly went numb. He watched in terror, unable to move, as the ghost whipped around the room, occasionally striking his father, who clung to his cross tightly, hoping it would protect him. Then they struck Ronnie's paralyzed body, leaving long cuts through his clothes in his skin.

He couldn't even feel the blood gush from his wounds, though he stared at it with terrible intensity.

Then a white light emerged from somewhere in the room, bleaching the green haze until it blinded him of the sight of his mother, who reached out her other arm to grab his hip.

"Ronnie!" his father yelled. But Ronnie couldn't see him either. "Your mama's gone, Ronnie! I-"

Then everything went silent, as well.

\- - - -

[Dipper's Apartment][7:40PM][Monday]

Lysander sent Dipper home early, saying he had some business to do which Dipper couldn't attend as well. Excited to go home, Dipper nodded, packed his things, and drove back to his apartment. Mabel was out studying with Grenda and Candy somewhere else, so Dipper had the apartment to himself. He took advantage of the situation by lounging with his computer in his bed in just his boxers and a large T-shirt. It was the most comfortable he could get.

His phone vibrated nearby, so he grabbed it and opened the text message he received. "You left me a hickey, you jerk," Norman wrote him. Dipper couldn't help but smile just a bit. He was glad he wasn't the only one who got flak from their night together. "Also you didn't text me," Norman sent right after.

"Sorry, I've been busy," Dipper replied, trying to find an excuse for not texting him. The real reason was that he was afraid Norman didn't actually want him to text back, and if Dipper had, he would seem annoying and clingy. But all of those fears washed away simply because Norman took the initiative to message him.

"Are you busy now?" Norman asked, he himself leaving Gold Treasure Tattoos, after the whole meeting with Genie, Arthur, and Dexter Lysander.

"No, not really," Dipper said. He could feel his heart rate increase as he anticipated Norman asking him to hang out.

"Wanna do something? I got Netflix and a queue full of ghost movies." Dipper was already getting dressed before he responded.

"That sounds great, actually."

Norman beamed at his phone, ecstatic that he was going to see Dipper again. Ever since he practically leapt out of Norman's bed Sunday morning, Norman has been waiting to see him again. He waited for Dipper to text him, but realized he couldn't stand the waiting.

"Great. I'm about to drive home. Do you remember where I live?"

"Yeah, I was just there yesterday, you know."

"Okay. Give me an hour."

"See you then."

\- - - -

[Norman's Apartment][9:00PM]

The movie was playing in front of him, but Dipper wasn't really concentrating on it. He concentrated on the feeling of Norman's arm around his shoulder, the blanket the two shared on the couch, and where he rested his hand. The hand he wanted to rest on Norman's leg, because he never got to do something so date-like with a guy and he thought that was what people did.

Breathing in deeply, Dipper gently placed his hand on the smooth cloth of Norman's gym shorts. He continued to face the TV as if nothing had nothing, because, after all, it was normal to put your hand on someone's leg, right? From his peripheral, Dipper saw Norman turn his head to look at him.

Then Norman brought his free hand to Dipper's chin, turned Dipper's head to face him, and softly kissed him just as a group of girls screamed in the movie, apparently surprised by an evil ghost. Dipper's fingers extended onto Norman's leg, his full attention on the guy's body next to him. Norman's hand fell from Dipper's chin down to his waist.

The soft kiss ended when Norman pushed his tongue into Dipper's mouth and Dipper happily returned the favor. Norman turned his body toward his guest, keeping one arm around Dipper's shoulders and the other on his hip. Breathing heavily through their noses, their kiss continued to deepen.

Dipper's heart pounded quickly as his fingers reach over to feel Norman under his shorts. Norman took a sharp breath, but continued to kiss Dipper passionately. Norman's hand in return slipped under Dipper's shirt, and he was amazed by how soft his skin was.

A scream of terror erupted from the movie, making the two boys smile while they made out.

\- - - -

[Norman's Apartment][11:50PM][Monday]  
Norman planted a few light kisses on the back of Dipper's neck, as he squeezed the boy tightly against his body. Dipper's hand rested on Norman's, which rested on Dipper's stomach.

"I have to go soon," Dipper murmured, turning around to look at the other boy in the bed. They were so close their noses almost touched. A wave of disappointment washed over Norman, and it showed on his face. He wanted Dipper to stay with him and sleep next to him. But he did understand it was a weekday night and they both had things in the morning. Norman let his hands drift up and down Dipper's torso, down to his boxers.

Dipper's hand gripped Norman's forearm, which he instinctively flexed. Norman pushed his lips onto Dipper's one more time, moving his hand up the boy's chest and to the back of his head, getting lost among the disheveled hair.

"That sucks," he finally said, separating from the kiss.

"Sorry, I got work early tomorrow," Dipper shrugged. He also wished he didn't have to leave. Norman was warm and comfortable and cute and... going home alone was absolutely no comparison.

They looked at each other for a few moments in silence, procrastinating until Dipper finally got up to get dressed to leave.

"Will you text me this time? I kinda like hanging out with you," Norman grinned, slipping one hand under the waistband of Dipper's boxers. Dipper blushed at the touch.

"I can't hang out again til this weekend," he said, pulling Norman's hand out of his underwear. "But I will text you soon." Dipper rolled over and hopped out of the bed, picking up his clothes and throwing them back on just like he did a couple of days ago. And again, Norman watched from the bed.

"See you," Norman muttered as Dipper slipped into his shoes while sitting on the edge of the mattress. Dipper smiled, leaning over to touch his lips to Norman's once more before he left.

"See ya."

\- - - -

[Richard R. Tuftin School of Business, Langford Bay University, Wesmont, Delaware][2:50PM][Tuesday]

"That's not even fair, man. You're, like, cheating," Norman's friend Neil quipped as they strolled down a long corridor leading out of the building. Having finished their last lecture, Econ 4420: Competitive Strategies, Norman and Neil planned to chill and rest for a couple hours before parting ways.

"I'm not cheating anyone out of anything," Norman said, holding his backpack straps as they lazily walked.

"You can't get both girls and guys when I hardly even get girls. How do you think that makes me feel?" The two laughed together.

"It must be so hard being straight," Norman joked.

"You have no idea," Neil returned. Norman had just finished retelling his night with Dipper to his best friend, who honestly was more surprised Norman could still get laid on a weekday than anything else. Most students were more worried about graduating and life after college during the week than anything else. They saved the fun for the weekend, and only the weekend.

Coraline was sitting on a nearby bench, which was installed of memory of some alum who must have done something important. She waved at the two boys as they approached.

"Whatchu up to?" she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun above.

"Nothing, actually. We're gonna hang out at the Student Center," Neil replied, fixing his scarf so the cold air wouldn't creep into his coat. "What about you?"

"Joining you," she smiled, standing up to walk with them down sidewalk across the campus. "Still got that hickey, Norman?" she wondered aloud as a silence was about to settle in.

Norman blushed a little, but luckily it wasn't noticeable since his face was red from the cold anyway. "It's fading. Thanks for telling me about it, by the way," he said sarcastically, staring with fake anger at her grin.

"I figured you knew about it and were proud or something, I don't know. Boys do things like that."

"No we don't," Norman said.

"I would," Neil laughed, causing Coraline to point to him as proof to Norman that boys are weird and do weird things.

"Okay fine, but I don't." They continued to walk quietly for a moment.

"Hey, that boy ever text you again? Or were you just a one night fling?" Coraline asked.

"They fucked last night!" Neil poked Coraline in her side with his elbow, a big grin on his face which spread to Coraline's as well.

"What? Two times now? You're practically married!" Coraline teased. Norman shook his head at his friends, trying not to laugh. He couldn't help but look at their taunting faces and add his laughter to the mix.

"You guys are stupid."

"What's his name? Daniel?"

"Dipper. Like chips and dip," Neil answered.

"Oh I remember. It's like the Big Dipper, right?"

"Yeah."

"So you guys dating now or...?"

"No, just fuck buddies, I guess."

"Alright. I'm tired of talking about Norman's sex life. Let's talk about something else." Neil demanded. He changed the topic to college basketball, but Norman didn't really pay attention. Not that he knew anything to contribute anyway. He actually wanted to text Dipper again, just to see how he was doing- just to talk to him. Norman liked his conversations with the student detective. They felt natural and flowed easily. But they never spent enough time to just talk. They both wanted to go back to a bedroom so they rushed everything leading up to that.

And usually that was okay with Norman, but with Dipper he wanted to just hang out, too. Maybe he'd invite Dipper to study with him sometime. Or go to a movie theater.

Maybe he'd offer to help him with his ghost hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always starts as being fuck buddies, doesn't it?


	5. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is out so late. School happened.

[Gold Treasure Tattoos][6:40PM][Monday]  
Lysander closed the door to Genie's office quickly after Norman left. Taking his brother's chair, Dexter sighed as he looked at his long-time friend with pleading eyes.

"What can I do?" he asked quietly, leaning closer to Genie's desk, knowing that she spoke softer when she gave bad news. And that was what he was expecting.

"Arthur is going to the hotel on Thursday and he will speak to the ghost who lives there. That's all I know," Genie shrugged. "That's what I saw. So that's what's going to happen, querido. We can't stop it now." She blinked slowly, but didn't look away from Lysander's gaze.

"So that's what's going to happen," the detective said to reassure himself more than Genie. A silence set in as Dexter thought hard about the situation. Genie had predicted Arthur going to the Tulipke Hotel to speak with Ronnie. She said she couldn't tell what precisely, but something was going to change. Ronnie was going to get more active. That could mean he got more frightened, or maybe he got angry, or maybe he became more powerful somehow. Whatever Arthur was planning, it wasn't going to help the boy move on. 

But what would?

"What did Artie say about Ronnie's mom?" Lysander questioned Genie, suddenly aware he knew nothing about the mother, yet walked into the conversation which was about her.

Genie opened her mouth a bit, but hesitated to answer. "He wondered if knowing what happened to her would help Ronnie move on. Maybe find closure."

"Would it?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because Arthur knows something about her, but I know Ronnie will not move on. And knowing your brother, he will bring it up anyway." Genie looked away from the detective, trying to remember more about her vision of Arthur's and Ronnie's meeting. But the memory was hazy. And it was only going to get more hazy with time. 

"You're positive that's what you saw?" Lysander asked again, hoping that there was some chance Genie was misinterpreted her vision, and maybe there was a way to stop Arthur from speaking with Ronnie the ghost. The Dominican woman just shook her head.

A silence set in again as the two contemplated their options for their next moves. They tried to plan out the rest of the week in their heads, hoping some series of events would present itself to them as a quick-fix solution to all their problems. But it usually didn't work that way.

"What about Dipper?" Lysander looked at Genie, breaking the silence.

"What about him?"

"Did you see him? At all?" the detective wondered, making Genie revisit her memories again.

"No, actually. I haven't seen him."

"So he doesn't get hurt during this case?"

"Not that I know."

"Should I take him off this case? Once my sergeant knows about Arthur and all this... shit," Lysander cursed for lack of a suitable replacement, "he'll have Dipper pulled. And I think the kid could be really useful. He's smart."

"He doesn't know that much yet. Don't get him seriously injured on his first case. It'd probably be for the best if he sat this one out." Lysander sighed at Genie's response. 

"I don't know, Genie. I want to use him; he's clever. Real clever."

"You know there's no such thing as a baptism by fire with these things. There's being prepared and there's being dead. You can choose one or the other. No matter how clever you are."

"I'll make sure he's prepared," Lysander folded his arms, settling his mind. Genie thought about pleading with him a little more, but it was useless at this point. She looked around the room hoping his common sense was sitting somewhere nearby, because clearly it wasn't in his head. Finding nothing to say, she just turned back to the detective.

"It's your sergeant you have to convince, not me."

\- - - -

[Winthrop Police Headquarters][1:10PM][Wednesday]  
Dipper examined a single grain of salt between his fingers. Its crystal shape baffled him as a kid. So much so that he found himself studying molecular geometry in the fifth grade, trying to solve the mystery of the tiny white Rubik's Cube-looking mineral in his hand. Now it wasn't so much how it appeared that confused Dipper. It was how it repelled ghosts.

"Salt's always been about protection, about keeping away what is bad," Lysander noted, tipping a salt-shaker over a basket of french fries next to his fast-food hamburger lunch. 

Dipper looked up at his boss, just to catch him with a mouthful of fries. "Yeah, but with food. Like salting meats to preserve it and keep it from spoiling or from bacteria or whatever."

"It’s all the same idea. Salt is about purity and cleanliness," the detective said between bites of hamburger. "It keeps things fresh and safe. It keeps you safe. It's why people throw it over their shoulders." Lysander wiped his mouth and stood up from his desk, grabbing a container of Morton Salt. "But if nothing else, just think of it as something that humans love. And if humans love it, then ghouls hate it." He tossed the container to Dipper, who examined it closely, as if some part of the label explained its ghost-repulsion.

"Okay, I get salt and the protection circles and all that, but what about the doors and windows? Can't ghosts just travel through walls? If I only pour salt in front of windows and doors, can't they still just go through a wall where there's no salt?"

"Ghosts don't travel through walls. It may seem like it to you, but they actually go through doors to get into rooms. They were people once, you know. People need to go through doors to get in."

"But they're not people anymore."

"Everyone follows rules, Dipper. There is some order to this chaotic universe. Ghosts don't travel through walls. It's just a rule that exists. All ghosts follow it."

"Why? What authority do ghosts obey?"

"Whatever authority created them."

"What created them?"

Lysander leaned against his desk and grinned a little. "I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Why don't you ask them?"

\- - - -

[E King’s Street, Wesmont, Delaware][6PM][Thursday]

“You know, when you said you needed my help with this case, I honestly thought it was a euphemism.” Norman traced the outline of a condom in his jeans pocket, looking at Dipper as they drove downtown. Sitting in the front passenger seat, Norman examined Dipper’s face as he drove. He didn’t look like how he did a couple nights ago. He looked stern and determined. He looked like he was on business.

“Is that a euphemism now? ‘Helping me work on a case’?” Dipper replied, glancing over at his passenger.

“It was last time I helped you with a case,” Norman smirked. Dipper face flushed the slightest shade of red. “And it still might be, I guess. You are taking me to a fancy hotel in Dover tonight,” Norman prodded Dipper with his elbow, trying to make the boy smile a bit. “You never know what might happen.”

Though Norman already knew he wasn’t going to use the condom in his pocket. He knew Dipper was serious when he needed help on the case. It took Dipper a while to calm down enough after Norman informed him that he could speak to ghosts to ask Norman for help speaking to the ghost of Ronnie.

Dipper was smiling a little at Norman’s joking. It may have crossed his mind to take advantage of the hotel situation to spend another quality night with Norman. But things changed. Lysander told him that the higher-ups may not keep Dipper on the case for much longer, and if that was the case, then Dipper would be reassigned to another detective until Lysander closed Ronnie’s file for good. And that might take a while.

So Dipper decided against using any of his time for anything except investigating the hotel, maybe finding Ronnie, maybe talking to Ronnie, and helping Lysander close this case sooner. 

Reaching the exit ramp onto Highway 1, Dipper turned up the music as the two settled in for the car ride to Dover. Dipper was calculating every possible scenario they could encounter upon reaching the hotel. He tried to plan for each, though he kept confusing himself and forgetting things. He should have thought about this earlier and written it all down. He’d have to do that for next time. Norman was trying to think of ways to avoid speaking to the ghost of Ronnie directly. He hadn’t encountered a malicious ghost since Agatha, and he didn’t want to do it again. It was exhausting, frightening, and risky. Especially for some ghost he knew nothing about. 

But for Dipper, maybe he’d be willing to stick his neck out a little bit more.

\- - - -

[Hotel Tulipke][8:15PM]  
The room was alright. It was only one floor away from Ronnie’s room, which was a bonus. Dipper figured if he needed to return to his room for whatever reason, he didn’t want to have to climb a bunch of stairs. But the hotel itself wasn’t spectacular. The new owners tried gussying up the place, but it would take a lot of TLC to get it back to what it was like in the 60s, when it was popular.

The two got their room keys, found their room, and dropped off their stuff. They asked for a room with two queens. But it wasn’t long before Dipper jumped onto Norman in his own bed, straddling his legs underneath him. 

Unable to control himself, Dipper discarded his plans to make this trip business only. As soon as he saw Norman simply lying in his bed in the hotel room, Dipper realized what a prime opportunity this was to spend time with Norman away from everything else that was going on. He didn’t have to worry about Mabel or one of Norman’s roommates walking in. He didn’t have to worry about how he was going to get home afterward. He wasn’t that pressed for time. 

Without giving Norman time to react, Dipper crashed his lips on to Norman’s, while his hands slid up and down the other’s chest. They both breathed heavily through their noses, not wanting to break the kiss. Norman’s hands drifted down Dipper’s back, slipping under the waist of his jeans. The two continued making out for a couple minutes, each wanting to savor this time and not rush it. They had all night, theoretically, to work on the case. A half hour to themselves couldn’t hurt.

Suddenly Norman’s phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand nearby. Norman turned his head, breaking the kiss, to instinctively look at it. Dipper got up from on top of him and lied down on the bed next to him. “It’s Genie, hold on, I should answer this,” Norman quickly explained to the boy lying next to him. Dipper sighed, but didn’t argue. But he did would have to make up for lost time, he decided, planning on ripping off Norman’s clothes as soon as he was back in the bed.

Norman clicked the answer button on his phone, worried something was wrong. Genie didn’t usually call him unless she had a vision that something was going to happen.

“Why the hell are you at that hotel?” Genie yelled before Norman could answer with a ‘hello’. Norman suddenly felt like a toddler caught stealing sweets from the cookie jar. He could almost see Genie standing over him, hands on her hips, waiting for an explanation which she knew couldn’t excuse him.

“I’m helping Dipper with the Ronnie thing,” he whispered back, embarrassed to have to explain himself like a child to his mother, hoping Dipper wouldn’t hear. Genie didn’t say anything for a few seconds, making Norman nervous. How badly did he fuck up?

“It’s dangerous there. You should leave, ahorita.” Norman’s heart began pumping faster, knowing she was right. He remembered the conversation between her and Arthur about Ronnie’s ghost. Ronnie was angry and Arthur was only going to make it worse. Plus Norman didn’t know much about the situation in the first place. Sure, Dipper gave him some background information, but he wasn’t as ready as Genie would have liked him to be.

But Norman caught the sound of Dipper shifting in the bed behind him. He turned around for a moment and saw the boy looking at him, a look of confusion and concern on Dipper’s face. Trying to look reassuring, Norman faked a smile and motioned to Dipper that he sound stay on the bed over on the other side of the room.

“You know I’m not going to leave, jefa,” Norman responded, slowly. Only after saying the words did he realize what he decided already. He was going to stay at the hotel and find Ronnie.

“Please don’t be an idiot, Norman. Not to impress a boy,” she pleaded, though rather pointlessly since she knew he was going to talk to Ronnie that night.

“I’m doing this to help him, not impress him,” Norman more told himself than the woman on the phone. Another silence set in, as Norman waited for Genie to respond. 

She sighed a little. “Ten cuidado, Norman. I’m furious at you that you went to that place. I brought you into my office the other night to scare you from going… But I know you’re going to be alright. So, good luck, then.”

“Thanks, Genie, I will. Goodbye.” He said, ending the call.

“What’s going on?” Dipper asked, sitting up in Norman’s bed, waiting for him to return. Norman walked over, but didn’t lie back down.

“We should start working on the case,” he replied. Dipper was about to propose that they resume what they were doing earlier, but he could see that his phone call with Genie took him out of the mood. So he just nodded, got up, and slipped his shoes back on. He didn’t want to press Norman, because he knew Genie had more sway on him that he did. Dipper grabbed his backpack of supplies and began double-checking to ensure he had everything he needed. He wasn’t going to go into his first case undersupplied and unprepared. Norman lingered by door, waiting for the detective-in-training to actually join him in the investigation.

As Dipper walked up to Norman, he snuck his arm around the spikey-haired boy’s waist, surprising him a little. “You know, I am impressed, actually.” Dipper whispered to Norman.

“At what?”

“Well you said you weren’t doing this to impress me,” he replied, making Norman blush, embarrassed that Dipper had heard him on the phone. “But I am impressed that you are willing to ghost hunt with me.”

“Thanks,” Norman said shyly, not really knowing what to say. “I do it a lot, I guess.”

“Well then, show me what you’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it wasn't as long as the others. I'm just trying to keep this story going!

**Author's Note:**

> More to come!


End file.
